


Interlude #4: Brutality

by asmodeusyne



Series: Republic of Infidels - Interludes [4]
Category: Republic of Infidels
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28048797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmodeusyne/pseuds/asmodeusyne
Summary: Canonical exchange between Rachel and Sergei, first person present tense.
Relationships: Rachel Sergei
Series: Republic of Infidels - Interludes [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042635





	Interlude #4: Brutality

I hear the door slam, and I wonder, from my place on the sofa, if Vikram has returned early from the provincial tour, but when I look up, it’s Sergei who walks towards me. His muscular bulk seems too big for the low hanging ceiling, and he stalks towards me, leading with one shoulder as though he’s about to throw a punch.

Before I can speak, he picks me up by my shoulders. He kisses me roughly, shoving his tongue into my mouth, more of an act of dominance than anything. One of his hands goes under my shirt and I cry out as he digs his fingers into my breast.

“Sergei,” I gasp when he finally lets me up for air. “What --”

“Shut up,” he growls. “Fuck me.” 

He pulls my hand to his cock, hard through his fatigues. I look into his eyes. He’s gone behind them, feral, full rein given to the void. I don’t think he’ll hurt me, but when he grabs my hair and forcefully guides my face down to his crotch, I get the sense that he’s very close. He’s told me frankly before how much he wanted to rape me. I’ve given him intimate access to my body, and now he wants ownership.

I’m wet by now. He’s surprised me with this violence, something hard to do. When he frees his cock and presses my face against it, I sigh. 

“Open your mouth, Rachel” he orders. I’ve never done this before, but I obey. 

The pre-come issuing from the head of his cock is salty, and to my surprise, tastes good. He doesn’t prepare me as he shoves his cock down into my throat. My scream is cut off, but he only moans. He punishes me like this four or five times. When he releases me, my face is burning, and my own saliva drips down my chin. My throat is sore from the roughness of the penetration, but I’m so turned on that even this feels good. I swallow and it eases.

I look up at Sergei. He stares down at me like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. His pupils are dilated. I wonder if he’s actually high from ingesting something, but no. I’m his drug of choice and I always have been. 

I wipe my face on my forearm, then rise to my feet. He doesn’t blink as he stares, but his eyes narrow slightly. His lips are parted. He has a predator stillness to him, like he’s waiting for an opening, but I get there first. 

I kiss him, sinking my tongue into his mouth, and I feel the groan rise up through him. His hands are rough on my body. He slides one down the front of my jeans and I feel him smile against my mouth as his fingers touch my clit. I come almost at once, unable to cry out, just tensing through my body as he holds me tight against him, his sculpted torso as hard as any statue. 

His mouth presses against my ear and I can feel his whisper sliding against my skin. “If you wanted me so much, you shouldn’t have kept me waiting.”

Is he referring to the night before last, or the years for which I rejected him? It will be several hours before my family returns, and he knows this, having sent the security detail to guard them. I don’t know how I get undressed, only that I’m naked before I’ve noticed. He doesn’t bother getting undressed, but lifts me on to the arm of the sofa, pushes my legs open and holds me balanced as he fucks me in quick, hard strokes. 

This is only the second time, but I know so much more. I realize, as he fucks me hard enough to bruise the insides of my thighs, how gentle he had been, how careful. The impact is so deep I feel it in my belly, feel his girth, his hardness. The hand on my back keeps me in place. I come again, and he takes my weight as I arch. He grunts as my muscles tighten around him. I’m still twitching as he lifts me into his arms.

Then we’re in my bed. I don’t need to tell him to undress. He peels off his shirt, his fatigues. He sighs as I put my hands on him, as I find each dip and contour, the tactile memory now forever in my hands. I’ve seen him, watched him develop in stages from a skinny teenager to shredded and felt nothing but contempt for him and his vanity. Now, I see him differently. He’s made himself for killing, but his strength makes him tireless. He’s been making himself for me as much as for his art. When I reach down, guide him inside me, my hands move to his back. I feel the muscles moving under his skin. 

He kisses me as he thrusts into me, this time with more deliberation. His hand moves down my side, his thumb pressing against my nipple. Then he bends his head down, captures it in his mouth, lets his tongue slide over it. I cry out as his teeth go into my flesh, just as his cock batters my cervix. I am too aroused to feel the pain, and it only bursts through me in waves of endorphins. 

“Rakhila,” he breathes against my neck. “You feel…”

He isn’t mocking me by using that name, I realize-- just saying it in Russian. He’s forgotten how to speak English. He’s so deep in me that his ego is subsumed, so lost in what he would call love and I would call affect that he can only react. It frightens me that the implication of this contradicts my assessment. I scream when I come, feel myself coming wet, feel him tense as he comes with me, in me. I realize I can actually feel the throb of it as it surges through him. 

From a distance, I watch him tilt his head back, pouty lips parted as he gasps. Tiny frown between his golden brows, his white hair a halo where the late afternoon sun shines on it. He is beautiful, a vision of how an archangel might appear to one of the deluded, but when his eyes open, bright blue and glittering, they are the eyes of a snow leopard, on the lookout for prey.

This, aside from his considerable prowess, is what makes me want him. The danger he represents. The fact that he is a killer. But this killer loves me, which negates the potential outcome that I am always secretly hoping for. That defies my assessment of what his “love” would really mean. 

Now he’s kissing my throat, my jaw, my ear. He’s working his palm against my clit, already so adept at my body. His hand goes to my throat and I think maybe he’ll do it. Maybe he’ll let me out of this flesh. But it wants him, and he knows it. I cry out, twisting, and he holds me down. 

\--

She dozes next to me, her cheek pressed against my chest. I stroke her hair, her cheekbone. I trace her lower lip, full and the colour of a pink bruise. I’ve marked her in several places, all easily concealed by clothing. Her breasts are surprisingly full, more than I’d thought. She likes to wear those baggy, loose fitting band shirts.

I palm one breast, feel the firmness of it, the point of her sharp little nipple as it hardens from my touch. She moans in her sleep and shifts slightly. I’m going to wake her in a few moments, make her come, make her scream. But I’m enjoying myself just looking at her like this. Her hips have graceful curve to them, though she is straight and slender through the waist. I normally like my women to be softer, but she is not one of my women. She’s Rachel. The rest of them are gone, erased from the world. Not one of them matters. Not one of them ever did. 

As she turns on to her stomach and drops her head on to the bed, I get an excellent view of her gorgeous ass. Hard enough to take a beating, but soft enough that it ripples when I strike it. Now I smooth my hand over it, move down, letting one finger slide over the seam of her cunt, still wet. I can see my come shining on the inside of her thigh. I am almost painfully hard. 

She whimpers, locked in some dream, as I tease her. I stroke her face as I move my fingers inside of her, taking my time to explore her. She comes awake as I slide my cock into her, holding her back against me, loving the way she struggles at first, not fully aware. Then she relaxes against me and I love that more. 

“Fuck,” she sighs, arching back. I hold her shoulder with one hand, and let the other move down over the curve she’s made out of herself, just to take me deeper. 

“Do you like that?” I ask her, letting my thumb move over the small of her back. 

She nods, too breathless to form words. Then she lets out a little cry as I flex inside her. I stay like that, enjoying the feeling of being surrounded by her flesh, of her body tense against mine.

“Relax,” I tell her.

“Relax?” she mutters. “You charged in here cock first and now you want relaxed?”

“I just want to feel you,” I say as I kiss her ear. “I’ve wanted you for an eternity.” 

“That’s poetic,” she scoffs. Then, as I slide my hand between her legs, she whines. 

“You take it so well,” I tell her. She weeps as she begs me for release.


End file.
